Your life
Is a story...

Nights spent
Staring...

Often people ask me
If they can read these sacred words...

Strands of hair
Aged a gray-brown hue...

The mind
Is a corrupt thing...

Ink stains
On her hands...

War paint streaks
Malicious smiles...

They hide
Behind masks...

The bell rings
Stampedes of students...

Darkness blinds
And saturates...